As we all know, a proud tradition of hip-hop is calling out, as they say, those sucka MCs who front like they can spit mad rhymes but are just bustas trying to bite a line. But crackin’ on Superman? Now you’ve gone too far, gentlemen!

Actually, this is a crime so old it should be considered a cold case. My wife Sandy rediscovered it recently while listening to Pandora and 1979’s “Rapper’s Delight” started playing. For those of you not ancient enough to remember ancient history, the Sugarhill Gang put the first hip-hop single in the Top 40 when this fairly tame, exceptionally lengthy rap swept discos and pop stations across the country. The song was silly, fun and undeniably catchy. It also completely disses Superman about two-thirds of the way in when Big Bank Hank starts dropping bombs on the Man of Steel. (Wonder Mike and Master Gee seemed to wisely distance themselves from this madness.)

It starts off semi-innocently enough:

Because they say that miracles never cease
I’ve created a devastating masterpiece
I’m gonna rock the mic ’til you can’t resist
Everybody, I say it goes like this

Well I was comin’ home late one dark afternoon
A reporter stopped me for a interview
She said she’s heard stories and she’s heard fables
That I’m vicious on the mic and the turntables

This young reporter I did adore
So I rocked a vicious rhyme like I never did before
She said, Damn fly guy I’m in love with you
The Casanova legend must have been true

OK, OK, so far, so good. I’d like to hear more about this young reporter, though.

I said, By the way baby what’s your name
Said, I go by the name of Lois Lane
and you could be my boyfiend, you surely can
just let me quit my boyfriend called Superman

Whoa, whoa, whoa!! We all know Lois can be fickle, but c’mon! Well, at least we can be sure Hank backed off once he realized who he was messing with right?

Wrong.

I said, He’s a fairy I do suppose,
flyin’ through the air in pantyhose.
He may be very sexy or even cute,
But he looks like a sucker in a blue and red suit.

That’s just a cheap shot, right there. Man, his momma made that for him!

I said, You need a man who’s got finesse
and his whole name across his chest.
He may be able to fly all through the night
but can he rock a party ’til the early light?
He can’t satisfy you with his little worm,
But I can bust you out with my super-sperm.

What. The. Fu …

I go do it, I go do it, I go do it, do it , do it
and I’m here and I’m there, I’m Big Bang Hank, I’m everywhere.
Just throw your hands up in the air
and party hardy like you just don’t care.

Thank you, Mr. Big Bang Hank, because we don’t care for your slander, not one bit. I’m just glad there weren’t other groups from that era that tried to make Superman look a fool.

If you’ve been following the Post since the old days (y’know … last week), then you might know that I’m in the process of moving from my current home in Austin to a new start in Delaware. Right now that mostly means being neck-deep in my least favorite part of moving – the packing.

Oooh, packing, how I hate you! Hold on, give me a second so I can go shake my fist at it.

OK, I’m back. So yeah, packing is a lot of ugh as far as I’m concerned. Still, it can have some perks now and then – particularly when my wife asks me to finally gather all the random, free-range comics from the various cubby holes I’ve let them nest in.

In the end I found issues in almost every room of the apartment – the living room, the office, both bathrooms (shut up), the bedroom and (surprisingly enough) the linen closet.

I can’t be the only one who leaves comics scattered all over the house, right? I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I don’t bag-and-board and climate-control and all that; I’m more of a reader than a collector. And for better or worse, that means I leave comics behind me like Hansel dropping hoagies.

(Wow, that sounds so much worse out loud.)

All in all it didn’t turn out to be as many as I thought it was going to be, but it was still enough to fill another long box. And I only stopped to read a comic, like, twice.